


Denial is Half the Battle

by OccamsRzr



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dating, Denial, F/M, Friendship, Healing, House knows Cuddy, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:20:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28581897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccamsRzr/pseuds/OccamsRzr
Summary: After "Let Them Eat Cake," House and Cuddy are avoiding each other, and she's ready to move on. It seems things with House will never move forward so she decides to give online dating another try. After a date leads to the unthinkable, she tries to go on as normal. While she might be able to fool everyone else, House knows Cuddy too well and recognizes that something isn't right with her. He's determined to solve the puzzle, but what he discovers will change things forever. In the end, House may be the only one who can help her heal.
Relationships: Greg House & James Wilson, Lisa Cuddy & Greg House, Lisa Cuddy & Greg House & James Wilson, Lisa Cuddy & James Wilson, Lisa Cuddy/Greg House, Lisa Cuddy/Original Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N- For those of you following my other story, A Torch in the Night, don’t take the appearance of this story as a sign I’m abandoning that one. Torch is my favorite pet project, continuing canon and reuniting Huddy. The next chapter is mostly complete and should be up soon. It was never my intention to work on two long fics at the same time, but this story has kept me up a few nights already as I find myself writing it in my head while I try to sleep. So I’ll be writing both for a while, enjoying having another outlet when writer’s block strikes on one or the other.  
> While Torch picks up where canon left off, this one will diverge from canon after Let Them Eat Cake. I’ll warn you ahead of time- angst will be heavy here. The subject matter will be heavy. I don’t want to offer too many spoilers, but as a trigger warning for those sensitive, it will deal with rape and the recovery from it. It will hurt, it will be uncomfortable, but in the end, there will be healing. And ultimately, Huddy as the endgame. Thanks for reading. Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated!
> 
> Disclaimer- From here onward in this story, just know that I’m borrowing characters owned by Shore & company. I have no ownership but lots of love for the show and the characters.

Frustration mounted as the pile of papers and files grew on her desk. Lisa Cuddy was a doer. A driven professional. A go-getter. Capable of keeping a teaching hospital like PPTH running smoothly. Professionally, she had it all—all together, all that she ever wanted, all organized and accomplished. It was her personal life where she so often came up short—in her late-30s, single, and childless. While her professional life was a lush harvest of accomplishment, her personal life felt like a barren waste field of failures. _Barren_ , much like her uterus. Much like her romantic life. No, all that lay there were failed attempts at IVF, a miscarriage, and a string of first dates that went nowhere.

Her eyes flicked from the pile in front of her and surveyed her office. Signs of her accomplishments, awards and framed diplomas, filled the walls and shelves. She was proud of them all… knew she should be. She fought hard to get where she was, proved everyone wrong who said she was too young, too inexperienced, or just couldn’t do it ( _as a female_ , that part always left unspoken but understood). She’d been relentless in pursuit of her goals—second in her class at med school (and yes, that still chafed, but she knew it was an accomplishment nevertheless), second youngest Dean of Medicine and Chief Administrator ever, first female in the position.

With a mirthless chuckle, she could only think, _Pride goeth before destruction, Lisa._

Cuddy sighed as she looked around, noting the “destruction” to be her personal life as no pictures of a family, of friends, of a life outside the walls of PPTH joined the mementos of her accomplishments. Raking a hand through her curls, she groaned and turned back to the pile in front of her, determined to make some progress on the paperwork that threatened to bury her. As she reached for the next file to review, she caught her reflection in the glass doors to her office. Her curls were wild, fluffed from the numerous times she’d run her hand through them in frustration.

_Great, now my hair’s going to be as untamed as my thoughts today_. _So much for professional appearances._

All it took was that thought, the mere mention of “professional appearances” for her mind to drift to the one person she’d been trying to _not_ think about all day. Her troublesome, yet brilliant, employee. Her friend, in their own weird way. Her one-time lover, even if only for a night. The man who she recently shared a searing kiss with, one that kept her up at night remembering. The man who was more comfortable grabbing her breast than expressing any sort of feelings. The man who represented the intersection of her personal and professional lives. _Gregory House._

Once again distracted from her work, Cuddy ran her fingers over the surface of her desk—the desk that House arranged to be delivered to her office during the recent renovations. The desk that held intimate memories for her—for them. She had thought the gesture was his way of making amends for that horrible “next logical step,” as he put it, but her hopes were dashed when she went to thank him for it and saw him there with another one of his hookers, flirty and close. The desk though… the surface was shined and smooth, and she found herself wondering if he’d had it refinished. Thousands of pages of homework and research papers had been written on this desk while she was in school, but none seemed to score the surface. The moments that were etched in her memory didn’t mar the smooth desktop at all. Shaking her head to clear the thoughts, Cuddy decided that it was just as well that they hadn’t. She didn’t need any more distraction. She didn’t need her personal life encroaching on her professional life any more than it already was. She picked up her pen and scrawled her signature on the file in front of her. There was work to be done.

* * *

On the fourth floor, House was in his office practicing the art of avoidance. Avoiding work. Avoiding clinic duty. Avoiding Cuddy. He knew it wouldn’t last. He could only avoid cases and clinic duty for so long before Cuddy would seek him out. That she hadn’t already come storming down the hall, heels clicking on the tile floor and voice screeching his name, puzzled him. That she hadn’t met his eyes in days or come to him shyly, biting her lip with affection and uncertainty, to thank him or even acknowledge her desk troubled him.

Slouching in his chair, House lifted his damaged thigh to prop his feet on his desk and sighed heavily. His fellows were casting surreptitious glances his way from the conference room, no doubt speculating amongst themselves what was troubling their boss. He knew they were bored, and unfortunately, he’d trained them well enough to look for the puzzle in everything. Without a case, they would focus all of their attention and curiosity on him. With a case, though, he’d be forced to talk to Cuddy at some point, and he wasn’t sure he was ready. Sure, he could send one of the fellows to update her on progress or fight for tests, but it wouldn’t be nearly as effective, and they’d grow even more suspicious.

House rubbed a hand down his face, weighing his options. It felt like he couldn’t win in either scenario. He knew he let Cuddy down and hurt her with the poorly considering groping. She wore them differently, shrouded her walls in professional drive and boundaries rather than misanthropy like he did, but he knew she had just as many as he did. She handled herself with grace and class but didn’t let people get too close. Her ambitions were her spouse, and PPTH was her baby. He knew it was safer for her that way, easier. She was confident in herself there, not plagued by guilt or insecurities. He wasn’t ignorant to that and understood what it must have taken of her to let her guard down and open up to him in his office. It wasn’t a calculated decision to ruin the moment. _Everybody knows this is going somewhere_. At that, his own fears boiled over, coating his walls in steel. Yes, he understood what it took of her to make that declaration, but he also understood that Cuddy deserved better than him. He liked her, maybe even loved her if he would allow himself to admit it, but he wanted more for her than he could offer. It was easier to fall back on old habits, to negate the moment with sex rather than emotion, than to let her know that.

But in the end, he _did_ like her. He knew it was going somewhere. She knew it. _Wilson_ knew it and wouldn’t stop harping about it like some old Jewish yenta. Apparently, everybody knew it. And House _did_ want to show her. Words? They were meaningless. Sure, he could tell her, but everybody lies. Actions would always mean more. He’d sabotaged her office renovations to allow more time for her desk to arrive for just that reason. House wondered if his actions came too late… if the damage done by the ill advised boob grab was the last straw in a long history of hurts he’d inflicted upon Cuddy. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe it was time he get out of the way and quit standing in the way of her happiness. He could never make her happy, not in the long term, but Cuddy deserved to be happy. Maybe it was time to let her go like he’d let Stacy go.

He was alone and miserable, and that was fine, but she deserved better.

Just then, House saw Wilson coming down the hall and knew the avoidance couldn’t last forever. Even if Cuddy wouldn’t seek him out to yell at him, Wilson would come with his lectures and meddling. Hoping to avoid the lecture for a while longer, House swung his chair around, feet hitting the floor with a thud and snatched his cane from the side of his desk as he popped up from the chair, ignoring the sharp pain that ripped through his thigh with the movement. Quick actions weren’t easy for a cripple, but he needed to move quickly if he wanted to avoid Wilson’s scolding. He limped to the door to the outer office and threw it open.

“Go find me a case, and make sure it’s interesting. Page me when you find something. And _don’t_ let Kutner near a set of paddles.”

Kutner looked like he wanted to protest the last instruction, but House shot him a withering look before he could. Foreman stayed in his seat and quirked an eyebrow at House as Thirteen, Taub, and Kutner scurried from the room looking relieved to have been given something to do.

House rolled his eyes at Foreman’s expression and quipped, “What? The idiot’s already set one patient on fire and shocked himself another time. Do _you_ really trust him with paddles?”

Foreman chuckled and shook his head before he leaned back in his chair and lifted the newspaper he’d rested on his lap, covering his face. From behind the paper, he warned, “Yeah, and this sudden need for a case has nothing to do with Wilson glaring at you from your office.”

With a quick glance over his shoulder to confirm that Wilson was indeed standing his office, hands poised on his hips in some sort of superhero pose, House groaned and announced loudly, “Gotta go! Clinic duty!”

Lowering the newspaper only enough to look over the top of it as House limped quickly to the outer office door, Foreman asked, “Clinic duty? Or somewhere else where you can keep avoiding Cuddy and Wilson?”

House stopped for just a second to pat his pocket, checking to make sure the portable television was still in it, and grinned back at Foreman. “General Hospital is on in ten. Page me if you need me. Or don’t. Preferably don’t.”

The paper raised again, a low chuckle coming from behind it. Limping out the door, House waved to Wilson who was staring at him from his office and shouted over his shoulder, “Gotta go, Wilson. Doctoring to do.”

Wilson watched as House disappeared down the hall and shook his head before walking to the outer office. At the sound of the door opening, Foreman lowered the newspaper again and looked at Wilson. The men stared at each other in silence, appraising the other, until Foreman finally spoke, “Don’t know where he’s going and don’t care. Whatever’s going on with him or you and him or him and Cuddy or whatever it is this week, it’s not my problem.”

Wilson propped one hand on his hip and raked the other through his hair. “He’s been weird ever since Cuddy took over his office. I’m sure you and the team have theories.”

Foreman rolled his eyes and folded the paper, placing it on his lap. “ _They_ have theories. I don’t care. What’s more interesting is that _you_ don’t know what’s going on.” With that, he cocked an eyebrow and gave Wilson a smirk.

Exasperated, Wilson threw his hands in the air and grumbled, “I’m going to go talk to Cuddy.”

* * *

The wry chuckle Foreman offered in response followed Wilson into the hall as he made his way toward the elevator.

Just when she was finally finding a rhythm and the mountain of paperwork was slowly shrinking, a polite knock at the door drew Cuddy’s attention from her work. The door creaked lightly as it opened and Wilson slid inside. She held in the groan that threatened to escape and grabbed a pen to write a reminder to herself to have maintenance look at the door.

The look in Wilson’s eyes told her that he wasn’t here for business, not hospital business. Looking for a way to head off the conversation before he could get started, Cuddy reached for the folder of budget reports that sat beside her and held it up with a soft smile.

“Thanks for getting your budget report to me. I haven’t had the chance to look it over yet, but I’ll let you know if I have any follow up questions.”

Wilson’s head dropped as he rubbed his neck, contemplating. He knew what she was doing, recognized the redirect for what it was. With a deep breath, he gathered his nerve and looked up at her. Cuddy could barely suppress a laugh as his stance widened and his fists came to rest on his hips. House was right. It really did look like a superhero pose. _Rationalization Man, coming to save the day with his superhuman meddling._ The thought boomed through her head in House’s voice, full of playful drama. She caught Wilson’s stare, his attempt to be stern that fell flat with those sympathetic brown eyes. _It’s no wonder he’s such a good oncologist. It’s in the eyes._

“That’s not why I’m here.”

With a heavy sigh, Cuddy set the folder aside and folded her hands on the desk in front of her. “I know, but as you can see,” she gestured to the paperwork still piled in front of her, “I’m busy. So unless you have something business related, I need to get back to work.” Wilson’s troubled look won her over, and her gaze softened. She wanted to be annoyed at his intrusion into her personal life… or lack thereof… but she couldn’t. Wilson meant well. Somehow, in spite of three failed marriages (and a string of affairs if hospital gossip was to be believed), Wilson was still a hopeless romantic. He believed in _love_. He believed in it overcoming obstacles, even the Mt. Everest sized ones that stood in the way of anything happening between House and her. He wanted them both to be _happy_ … or at least less miserable in House’s cases, and he somehow believed that they could have that together. Cuddy was sure that he didn’t know she’d already tried. That House had ruined a perfectly good moment between them. She was sure he didn’t know how House had negated his own gesture by calling on a hooker that same day. No, some things just weren’t meant to be, and Wilson wouldn’t accept that.

Truly, it was funny, she thought. They each had their own vices, their own drugs. House had his Vicodin. Cuddy had her professional drive. And Wilson, Wilson had love. And none of them could let go of their respective vices, even when it was the most logical thing to do. Even when they had each paid steep costs for them.

Cuddy shook her head to clear the thoughts before offering Wilson a small smile. “I really do have to get back to work, but I’m sure if you check with my assistant, we can do lunch soon. Maybe tomorrow? You can meddle all you want then.”

Wilson quirked an eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest. “You do know your assistant quit two days ago, right?”

A startled gasp was followed by narrowed eyes as Cuddy slid her chair to the side of the desk to look out the window to her assistant’s workspace. _Damnit, not another one. How did I miss that? No wonder I can’t seem to catch up._ This time she didn’t suppress the groan that built in her throat and slid her chair back over, writing another note to call HR and find a new assistant ASAP. Yesterday if they could.

When Wilson turned to walk out the door and let her make the calls she was obviously anxious to make, Cuddy stopped him. “Wilson?” He stopped and looked back over his shoulder before she continued, “House hasn’t turned in a budget report yet. Do you think… well… could you just see if you could help get one? Since Cameron left his team, they’re not getting done.”

Gripping his neck again in frustration, Wilson shook his head. “And normally, you’d have no problem marching up to his office to yell at him about it, but now you’re avoiding him and he’s avoiding you. See? This is what happens. Something happens. You both try to avoid it. Then things get weird.”

She wanted to deny it, wanted to claim she was just delegating like an efficient administrator, but that would be a lie. She was avoiding House, and House was avoiding her. “It’s not weird. It’s just…” _weird_ , her mind completed. “It’s just how it has to be right now. I told you, everyone’s better off if House and I don’t date.”

The exasperated sigh Wilson offered in response told her he didn’t believe that. Needing to end the conversation there, Cuddy reached for the phone and offered a nod as a goodbye. As the door creaked open again, _Right, maintenance. I’ve got to call maintenance about that_ , Wilson paused one last time. Before she could dial the first number, he glanced over her desk and inquired, “You never did say who sent you your desk.”

A small, sad smile crept over Cuddy’s face as she contemplated how to answer. Her fingers left the keypad of her phone to skim over the surface of her desk, and she pulled the side of her bottom lip between her teeth. “Oh… it was just an old friend who knew I was renovating and knew this desk had a lot of meaning for me.” That worked. It was an easy, safe answer. She could even argue it was true. House was an old friend. There _was_ a lot of history and meaning in the desk. Wilson just wasn’t privy to that history. No one at PPTH was. It was better than way.

It surprised her, but Wilson didn’t pry any further. He gave his own smile and offered, “It’s nice. And it’s a nice symbol of how far you’ve come.” With that, he slipped out the door and closed it behind him.

_Yeah, it is a nice symbol of how far I’ve come… and of how far **we** never did._

Pushing that thought aside, Cuddy reached for the phone to call maintenance.


	2. Chapter 2

House didn't _want_ to be in the clinic. His mandatory four hours a week (plus whatever punitive hours Cuddy had assigned him… he'd lost count) were the highest form of torture imaginable. He was certain that if Dante ever spent time in the PPTH clinic, he would have declared it the Tenth Circle of Hell. With the sheer proximity of the clinic to Cuddy's office, he especially didn't want to be there _now._ It only increased the risk of running into her. Nearly a week had passed since their last awkward conversation in his office, and he still wasn't ready to face her. Wilson would argue something about _feelings_ and being hurt by the fact that she hadn't acknowledged his gift, her desk. His attempt at a grand gesture. Well, he would if he knew about it, but telling Wilson would only fuel his meddling, and that was something House didn't want. No, it was better that Wilson never know about the desk and the history behind it or he would never stop with the feelings talk. House rolled his eyes at the thought. He didn't do _feelings_. He just didn't want to deal with the She-Devil and _her_ feelings. The freeze could only last so long, and she would start screeching out her frustrations soon.

 _Really? I'm an idiot for being surprised_.

Her words played in an endless loop in his head. Yeah, she would be in complete She-Devil mode for a while once the freeze ended. The best way to avoid that inevitable conclusion was to not give her a reason to hunt him down, and that unfortunately included slaving away in this Tenth Circle of Hell. Avoidance was the best strategy. It had nothing to do with his _feelings_ —it was about avoiding hers. Except at that moment, he was standing at the reception desk in the clinic and staring into her office, staring at the desk he had delivered.

A file smacked him in the chest, abruptly interrupting his thoughts. Nurse Brenda was still holding the file, pushing it further into his chest with a smirk. He snarled at her and rubbed his chest with a terse, "God, doesn't anyone have any respect for cripples around here."

She rolled her eyes in reply. "Exam Room 2."

Skeptically, he flipped the file open and scanned the patient complaint. "Ew, no. Crotch rot." Tossing it aside, he reached for the files of patients waiting and flipped through them all. "More crotch rot." Toss. "Pregnant." Toss. When he opened the next file, he groaned, "Annnnd… crotch rot."

He ducked into an exam room and quickly exited, limping over to the crowded waiting area before exclaiming loudly, "Don't _any_ of you idiots know how to use condoms?" Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the handful of condoms he'd taken from the exam room and started tossing them into the laps of the waiting patients. "Here. Use them and spare yourself any more visits here." Turning to the younger woman in the corner, he tossed the rest of the handful to her. "Make sure you use them for the next seven months or so especially. STDs can really hurt the development of your parasite. And here, you'll need some prenatals too." Pulling his prescription pad from the inside pocket of his jacket, he quickly scribbled out a prescription for the vitamins and handed it to the shocked woman. "Take them with a full glass of water. The fatigue should get better in the second trimester."

Limping back to the reception desk, House sneered at Nurse Jeffrey and ignored Nurse Brenda as he reached over to grab a red lollipop from the candy jar. He grabbed the clipboard and signed his name on the clinic log. "Dr. House checking out at 1:45."

Nurse Jeffrey refused to look up as he studied the file in his hands. Disdain radiated off of him, and he quipped, "Dr. Cuddy's not going to be happy when she hears about this."

"Oh goody… do you think she'll spank me? I love it when she gets all dominatrix on me." With that, he pulled an amber bottle from his pocket and shook out two Vicodin, tossing his head back to dry swallow them before making his way out of the clinic and to the elevators. General Hospital would be on soon, and he hadn't visited Coma Guy in a while.

* * *

When the page from Brenda came through reading "Clinic coverage needed," Cuddy groaned in frustration. She knew she shouldn't be surprised by it. In fact, she was more surprised when she approached the clinic doors earlier, intent on heading to her office, and saw House was actually in the clinic. He'd skipped all of his clinic hours for the last week, not even putting in the token effort to hole up in one of the exam rooms watching his portable TV. It was obvious he was avoiding her, too emotionally stunted even look at her or entertain a conversation after she'd finally attempted to move their relationship forward.

No matter what Wilson tried to say though, she wasn't avoiding House. She was just… busy. She had a hospital to run, donors to meet, budgets and proposals to review. _And fragile egos to soothe, Lisa. Don't forget about all the damn fragile egos_. She rubbed a temple at the thought, convincing herself she wasn't referring to her own ego or House's. Much of the morning had been occupied mediating some childish tiff between one of her surgeons and one of her cardiologists. No, there was no shortage of fragile egos in the hospital. She'd listened for as long as she could before telling the doctors in no uncertain terms that they needed to get over themselves and focus a bit more on patient care and a bit less on such silly conflicts. Watching them both go wide-eyed in shock and stutter out apologies and assurances that they would do just that had been satisfying. It always was when she was reminded of the power she held around the hospital. It grounded her in those times when she felt like her personal life was falling apart. Nevertheless, the drama had exhausted her, and she looked forward to collapsing on the sofa in her office to decompress.

That hadn't happened though. Just before she threw the clinic doors open, she saw House standing there with a file in hand. His position at the reception desk had him directly in the middle of her straight path to her office. She wasn't avoiding him. A confrontation would just add to her exhaustion and ruin her chance of decompressing in her office. Plus, she was _relieved_ to see him in the clinic. It meant she wouldn't have to chase him down for another showdown over missed clinic hours. She was sure that's why he was there. He had to know the showdown was coming and the only way to keep avoiding her was to actually show up in the clinic. _And the relief you feel about not having to chase him down means nothing. It's just something else you can check off your To Do list. Nothing to do with avoiding him._ With a smile of satisfaction at taking "Force House to do his clinic hours" off her To Do list, she'd turned on a heel and decided she needed to check in with Radiology anyway.

When Amanda, one of the best radiology technologists in the hospital, greeted her with a clipped, "Dr. Cuddy. I was just coming to see you," she wondered why she hadn't just gone for a breather in the stairwell instead. But it was too late for that option so all she could do was smile and ask Amanda how she could help.

Amanda was about halfway through her rant about House's team commandeering the MRI and pushing their schedule off by 45 minutes when Brenda's page came through. The rant stopped and an eyebrow raised in question at Cuddy's groan. Cuddy knew she shouldn't be surprised. Of course House skipped out on his clinic duty. That was the natural order of things, not him spending time there without coaxing and threats of disembowelment. She also knew she shouldn't feel as relieved as she did to have an excuse to end this conversation. Yes, it was important, but she'd had it so many times that she felt like Radiology should know by now to pad the schedule to allow for House-related disturbances.

With an apologetic smile, Cuddy excused herself. "I'm sorry, Amanda. I have to go deal with this. I know you're frustrated, and I will deal with Diagnostics accordingly."

Before Amanda could protest, Cuddy was slipping out the door, Blackberry pressed to her ear, and a one sided conversation echoing in the halls.

"I'm sorry Brenda. I know. I'll have someone down there right away. No, I can't cover it right now. I'm supposed to meet with new prospective donors in—" With a glance at her watch, she suppressed another groan. _Shit!_ "Actually, they'll be there any time. I'm on my way down now. If they get there before I do, can you offer them some coffee please? Yes, I know. I'm working on finding a new assistant. HR promised me they'd have someone soon. And call up to Diagnostics. They can send someone down to cover the clinic. I know. I don't care if they're getting annoyed having to cover House's hours. They all played his little game of Fellowship Survivor. They knew what they were getting into. Thanks Brenda. I owe you! I'll be right there."

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders as she mentally added "Confront House about his clinic hours _and_ proper scheduling of the MRI" back to her To Do List.

* * *

"Taub's pissed."

House sucked heavily on his straw, loudly slurping the last remnants of liquid from the bottom of his cup. "Not now, Wilson. They're about to reveal the father of Renee's twins. It could be anyone!"

Unphased, Wilson stalked over and grabbed the remote, turning the television off. "Taub's pissed and you're in here watching television and using Coma Guy as a lunch tray!"

"Excuse me Dr. Compassion, this is therapy for my dear friend Coma Guy. Studies have shown that auditory stimulus is good for coma patients! And he's better lunch company than some meddling Jews who only want to talk about feelings and my _non-relationship_ with Cuddy." House glanced over at Wilson, taking in the crossed arms and scowl. "And of course Taub's pissed. He threw away a successful plastic surgery practice for meaningless philandering and is now working as a fellow. I'd be pissed too."

The rolled eyes and heavy sigh that Wilson offered in reply made House cringe, knowing a lecture was coming. "Yeah, I'm sure that's it. It has nothing to do with him being called down to cover your clinic hours for the third time this week."

"Like I said… he's working as a fellow. Grunt work is part of the job description."

"A fellow in _Diagnostics_ , House! He was called away from the lab where he was running serums for your patient! If he wanted to spend all of his time working in a free clinic, he'd be working at one. He came here to learn from _you_!"

House perked up and turned to Wilson with a large smile, "Thanks! I'll have to remember that argument the next time Cuddy starts harping on me about my hours—"

"Which, strangely, she's not. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you're both avoiding one another."

Pensively, House stared at Wilson, taking in that revelation. It all suddenly made sense. Cuddy _hadn't_ hunted him down yet. He'd been so happy with his successful avoidance of her that he hadn't even considered that she could be avoiding him too. He thought the new hiding places had thrown her off his trail this week, but he'd never managed to evade her this long. The She-Devil had some sort of House tracking device and always managed to turn up in the most remote corners of the hospital. No, Wilson's theory made more sense, and House was annoyed he hadn't been the one to realize it.

"—weird since she shared your office. What happened between you?" Apparently, the lectured had continued while he contemplated Cuddy's mutual avoidance.

"I _always_ avoid the She-Devil, Wilson. It's the best way I've found to not be forced to complete pedantic chores like clinic duty. This is normal, not weird."

"No. Normal is you avoid clinic duty, Cuddy chases you down, you leer, she threatens to take away your toys, you make some grossly inappropriate comment about her body, then you go take a patient and hide in an exam room with them for an hour. _That_ ' _s_ normal."

"I have missed Patty and Selma recently. How low cut is her shirt today?"

Wilson threw his hands in the air, waving them in frustration. "You need to fix this, House. She's the only administrator crazy enough to keep you employed. You can't hide from each other forever." He turned and started toward the door.

House stopped him just before he could leave. "Hey Wilson." If Wilson dared to hope this was one of House's door knob style acknowledgements or confessions, he was greatly disappointed. "Send Kutner down to relieve Taub. If he thinks he's good enough to use my name to run an online clinic, he should be good enough to cover my clinic hours." The television flicked back on, signaling the conversation was over.

_Huh. So Cuddy's avoiding me too. That's… interesting._

The soap opera could no longer hold his attention.

* * *

Despite its rocky start (she was waylaid three times on her way to her office and ten minutes late), the meeting with the Ashcombs went better than she had dared to hope it would. Soliciting donations for the hospital wasn't always an easy task. Donations for Pediatrics? Easy. Just a few phone calls and it was done. Oncology? Everyone loved feeling like they were doing something to help cure cancer. Even Diagnostics, as frustrating as the whole damn department could be, generated donations without any hard-sell needed. Unfortunately, none of those departments were the ones she was asking the Ashcombs to direct a donation toward. Gastroenterology needed equipment upgrades and at least one new doctor, preferably two. But intestines and digestive conditions weren't sexy or cute or at all appealing to the average philanthropist. Drumming up money for them required every watt of the mega-watt smile she reserved for these instances. Every ounce of charm she could muster. Truly, it required everything she had available to give. So when the Ascombs committed five hundred thousand dollars to be earmarked for Gastroenterology, Cuddy barely suppressed the urge to pump a fist in the air and shout in victory. It felt like the first win she'd had all day… maybe even all week.

Brenda caught her eye as she walked the new donors to the door and raised an eyebrow in question. Her cheeks ached from the hour and a half of smiling and charming— _oh God, I can never say that to House. The blow job jokes world never end_ —but she flashed Brenda a wide smile and thumbs up, chuckling at the, "You go girl!" that was mouthed in response.

Drawing strength from the victory, Cuddy decided it was time to confront her rogue diagnostician. As she made her way toward the elevator, she called over her shoulder, "I'll be back. I need to do a bit of House hunting." Brenda's laughter followed her out the door.

House heard her before he saw her, heels clicking down the hall in short, pointed steps. He knew the sounds of all of Cuddy's strides, and this one did not sound promising. Briefly, he considered making an escape by way of his balcony. She was too close for him to try to slip out of the office and down the hall. She would see him and could outrun him, even in those ridiculously high heels. With a quick glance outside, he realized a balcony escape wasn't much better. The cold rain would be torture on his leg if he tried to hide outside, and he couldn't escape to Wilson's office. Not only would she check there next, Wilson would just start nagging him again. Facing Cuddy would be easier than sitting through another one of Wilson's reproaches. No, his best option was to stand (or sit) his ground. He flipped open the journal on his desk, feigning total immersion in it, before she pushed his door open.

"House! I—"

He sat back in his chair, sliding the reading glasses off his nose, as he cut her off, "Yeah, yeah, I know Boss Lady. Clinic duty. Don't you ever get tired of this lecture?"

"Do _you_?"

"Nope. Like you've said before, this is fun." He skipped over the "you make me miserable. I make you miserable" part. That wasn't fun anymore, and they both knew it. It was no longer just professional misery they were subjecting on each other. _Wilson, stop planting this feelings crap in my head_. "Calm down. Clinic was covered. My team—"

"Your _team_ covered it _after_ someone had to track them down because you left it uncovered! And they're _your_ hours, House, not your team's."

"What's it matter who does them if they get done?"

"Maybe it matters because of a little thing called your employment contract?"

"I still don't know why I signed it with that ridiculous clause in it."

Cuddy chuckled as she strode across the room and leaned forward, pressing her palms down on his desk. "You really didn't have any leverage for negotiating. I held all the cards. I called the shots, just like I do now. You can make up your clinic hours tomorrow."

"But Mom, my patient might get really sick and need me."

"Which is why it's a great thing you have a team of four qualified doctors who can take care of your patient and a cellphone they can call if they really need you. You'll do your hours. And you'll quit taking over the MRI whenever you please. Use the scheduler like everyone else."

He leaned back in his chair and threaded his fingers behind his head. She looked satisfied, like she felt like she'd won. It was time to play the trump card that Wilson handed him earlier. "You know what's funny?"

Cuddy narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. He looked too smug for her to feel comfortable. "That you'll be wiping noses all day tomorrow?"

"No, that last week I couldn't get you out of this office and this week, you were nowhere to be found. I skipped clinic all week, didn't have a patient for days, and yet, you're just now tracking me down. It's interesting." He leaned forward a bit, tilting his head to peer down her shirt. "Not quite as interesting as the view right now- love the demi cup on you. But interesting."

She straightened herself, pulling her shoulders back to rise to full height as the accusation hung in the air between them. He'd turned the conversation around her her, subtly calling her out for avoiding him. The thought rankled her. It wasn't avoidance. This was just the first opportunity she'd had to confront him.

"I've been busy. Some people actually work around here."

He didn't want to push it further. He didn't want to have a conversation about what had changed since last week. He just wanted to put the thought in her head, push the button to end this conversation. If he said any more, he risked her deciding they needed to _discuss_ things so he picked up his reading glasses and flipped the page of his journal. "Yeah, I'm sure that's it. So clinic hours. MRI. Anything else?"

She didn't answer, just turned to leave, satisfied for now that she'd done her job. As she pulled the door open, she heard him say her name and turned her head back.

He was quiet, voice low and somber. "I may be what you want, Cuddy… or what you think you want. But I'll never be what you need."

She lowered her head and worried her lip between her teeth. The acknowledgement of their personal situation caught her off guard. Slowly, she shook her head from side to side. "I just need you to do your job, House." She slipped out the door, soft steps echoing her retreat.


End file.
